


the scars say (what the words won't) what i didn't forget

by giucorreias



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Bruce Banner-centric, Bruce Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giucorreias/pseuds/giucorreias
Summary: Bruce's life has given him many scars. Not all of them are physical.





	the scars say (what the words won't) what i didn't forget

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the 24th delipa, the musical. My song was "Fera Ferida" (Wounded Beast), by Maria Bethânia. I wasn't planning to write this fandom originally, because I am really hyped with Pillars of Eternity, but I ended up not finishing my gameplay on time and here we are. Plus, this ship doesn't nearly have enough fics with these two as the main couple ;~;
> 
> This hasn't been beta read, by the way, so if you find any mistakes be sure to let me know!

“I hate that people keep tiptoeing around you,” Tony says, bare feet over his coffee table. It’s a cold night and they’re sitting face-to-face in Tony’s huge living room, eating Chinese. Behind them, _outside_ , it’s still possible to see the destruction caused by the alien invasion—and The Hulk, while trying to stop it.

“You’d think that turning into a huge monster would be reason enough,” Bruce answers. His eyes roam over the room and stop by the person-shaped hole left on the floor. _He did that_. He can’t let himself forget.

“ _You’d_ think that,” Tony says, gesturing with both hands, his food forgotten. Bruce notices the arc reactor shining dimly through his shirt and highlighting his face, the sauce on his goatee, the intensity of his eyes. “My death count is a lot bigger than yours and no one treats me the way they treat you.”

They have barely just met: less than a month ago, they had never seen each other. They knew of each other, of course, but had never spoken. And yet, ever since that mess with Loki and the Chitauri, ever since they had shaken hands for the first time, Tony had treated him-

“It’s not the same at all,” Bruce says back, burrowing himself on the sofa—it’s much more comfortable than many beds he’s slept in before, and he doesn’t know how to feel. He’s tired and frustrated and _angry,_ but he’s full and warm and comfortable too.

“It’s hypocritical,” Tony keeps going, oblivious to Bruce’s inner conflict. “They’re all hypocrites. Fury, Romanoff, even Captain Perfect. Most of the deaths you caused wouldn’t even have happened if Ross had left you alone, and Shield knows this- _has_ to know this. They could have protected you- they have a lot more power than the army! But they didn’t, so all of those deaths are on them too.”

“Tony-” Bruce begins, but he doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t know what else to say. What he wants to say. What he thinks.

When Tony had offered him a place to stay, on the Helicarrier, Bruce hadn’t trusted his motives. Tony’s a scientist, and Bruce’s tired of being a lab rat. Tony’s a powerful man, and Bruce’s had trouble with powerful men in the past. Tony’s fragile, and Bruce turns into a huge green monster when he loses control. Bruce’s safer among people no one cares for—if anything happens to Tony Stark, he’ll never find respite ever again.

Yet, something about Tony has made Bruce curious. He’s such a walking _contradiction_. One moment he’ll poke him with a pen just to see what happens. The other, he’ll offer him expensive blueberries while babbling about code, or shake his hand and tell him “your work on anti-electron collision is unparalleled”, or even argue against Shield’s lack of action on his behalf.

Bruce doesn’t trust him, of course. This might be part of a manipulation scheme. He’s seen it before, people interested on a sample of his blood, to try and recreate the Hulk. But if it is a manipulation scheme, it is a well-done one. It is one he doesn’t really mind falling for—for now.

 

* * *

 

Bruce wakes up feeling really well. That’s rare enough these days that he jumps out of bed and starts changing his sleeping clothes, mind working fast; there are things he wants to do before he changes his mood—research, mostly. Tony’s been kind enough to build him a lab of his own, full of cutting-edge technology, and Bruce needs to enjoy it while it lasts. He knows it won’t last forever.

He’s in the process of changing his shirt—whistling—when Tony saunters into his room, wild hair and sunglasses, doubtlessly hungover. He doesn’t complain about the lack of privacy, first because he knows it’ll fall to deaf ears, second because he’s getting used to Tony’s disregard for his personal space. It was uncomfortable, in the beginning. Now it’s just another aspect of sharing his home.

“I didn’t know you could scar,” Tony says suddenly, voice scratchy. He takes off his sunglasses, rests them on his forehead. He’s frowning. Bruce looks back at him, mirroring his frown, and it takes him a second to realize what Tony’s talking about.

“I can’t,” he answers. “Not anymore. These are from before.”

Tony doesn’t say anything for the longest time, and Bruce regrets answering his not-question. A nice thing about Tony— _contradiction_ —is that despite his disregard for personal space, he’s surprisingly respectful of boundaries. Bruce supposes that’s empathy; he wonders if he used to be like that, too, before Afghanistan.

“Can I-” he says, approaching. He doesn’t finish the sentence, and instead touches Bruce’s back, tracing his scars. Bruce shivers, and it has nothing to do with being cold and everything to do with the light touch of Tony’s warm fingers on his back.

“What are you doing?” Bruce murmurs. He fears if he says anything out loud Tony’ll stop. He doesn’t know if he wants Tony to stop.

“I’m sorry,” is the answer. Tony’s fingers leave his skin, and once again Bruce turns to look at him. This time, Tony’s looking at him with big eyes and wet lashes. Bruce feels fondness well up inside of him, and smiles.

The smile doesn’t leave him for the rest of the day—a rare occurrence.

 

* * *

 

Bruce wakes up with his heart beating fast, skin tinged green. He doesn’t remember what he dreamt about and it frankly doesn’t matter: the result is always the same.

He gets up and doesn’t even waste time trying to control his breathing, as it won’t do anyone any good—he just runs. Straight past the living room, through the corridors, up the stairs, until he reaches the roof. It’s still dark, the sky starry, and the wind is blowing his hair, his face. He’s safe, he’s _safe_ , _he’s_ _safe_ , he chants, mentally; but years of running away make it hard to believe it.

Someone touches his shoulder and he roars, turning, fist ready to strike—but it’s Tony and he _isn’t wearing his suit_.

He stops.

It’s hard to think with the anger coursing through his blood, the fear heavy on his stomach, the monster raging in the depths of his mind telling him to cut his losses and run, before he’s betrayed, before it’s too late, before he gets hurt again—

But he stops.

“Tony,” he warns, tries to. It ends up half his name, half a growl. He can barely feel himself under the Hulk, and it would be so easy to let go—

Tony hugs him.

Tony’s hand travels soothingly through his back, and his body is so very warm. He smells of grease and sweat and expensive coffee, and his voice is worried and calm and Bruce can’t really hear what he’s saying but he can guess what it is and he’s safe, he’s _safe_ , _he’s safe_. Standing there between Tony’s arms, it’s easier to believe it.

Bruce breathes.

Just- breathes.

 

* * *

 

“You were reckless,” Bruce says. He wants to yell, but he doesn’t. He’s too tired. “I could have hurt you, Tony.”

Tony rolls his eyes. The sun is rising, now, and they’re sitting side-by-side, legs dangling to the side of the tower. Bruce isn’t afraid to fall, he knows he won’t die even if he hoped he would, for half a second, before burying the thought.

“I wasn’t worried,” Tony waves him off, playing with the bracelet on his wrist. It doesn’t sound like a lie, but it has to be.

“You should’ve been,” Bruce tells him anyway. “The other guy is dangerous. I almost-”

“You didn’t,” Tony shrugs. “And you wouldn’t. You think Jolly Green is a monster and doesn’t think, but I want you to remember that he— _you_ —saved my life. Not only did he recognize me as an ally, but he noticed I was in danger and acted to prevent my death. He isn’t all about smashing.”

“You don’t understand, Tony. You can’t understand what it’s like to lose control and do things you’d never do in normal conditions. To have some- _thing_ use your body and cause death and destruction, and then to have to deal with the consequences.”

“No,” Tony agrees. He puts his hand over Bruce’s shoulder, and rests it there. Warmth seeps into his skin. “But I can be here for you.”

Bruce closes his eyes.

He thinks of Betty Ross, he thinks of leaving her. He thinks of finding her again, and then being forced to leave her a second time. He thinks of the places he’s been to, the people he’s met, and of how he’s made their lives harder. He thinks of a hand on his shoulder, and of turning to strike. He thinks of Tony’s body, lifeless.

He says:

“This is my burden to bear.”

And gets up.

 

* * *

 

Bruce’s danced this dance before. He knows how it feels to fall in love, so deeply even the beast recognizes them. He knows how it feels to wake up, drenched in cold sweat, an empty space beside him, unsure if killing them was a nightmare or real life.

He’s a coward at heart. No matter what he says to other people: Bruce isn’t the one who stands his ground and faces the consequences. No, Bruce’s the one who runs. Between the two of them, it’s the Hulk who looks danger in the eye and then punches it. It’s the Hulk who trashes their enemies and clings to life.

It hurts, to look around his room. There’s a half-read book on the bedside table, a Hulk mug beside it (Tony’s idea of a gag gift). The starkphone is charging, and the notebook’s still open over the carpet, next to the bed. There’s his lab coat, haphazardly thrown over a chair, his emergency backpack lying empty and half-open under it.

Bruce took half of his favorite clothes out of it, two weeks ago. He had been planning to put them back, but never got around to doing it.

“There are pieces of shrapnel around my heart,” Tony’s voice says suddenly. Bruce whips around to look at him, heart rate rising dangerously. Tony’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, hair wild. There’s a smudge of something on his cheek, probably grease. Bruce hadn’t noticed it there, before. “The arc reactor stops them from killing me.”

“I-” Bruce starts, but Tony approaches him and stops him with a finger to his lips.

“Not very long ago, it was made of Palladium,” he pauses. Bruce understands what he doesn’t say. “Then I created a new element based on my father’s research, and that _saved_ me. And before that… Before that, in Afghanistan, the person who died so I could escape had his family killed by the weapons I made. We all have our burdens to bear.”

“Tony-”

“We all have our burdens to bear, Bruce,” Tony rests his forehead against Bruce’s and closes his eyes. “Don’t go.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce stays.

 

* * *

 

Bruce wakes up with Tony’s cries. It’s sudden and unwelcome—they’d both been awake until late last night—, but not at all unexpected. It isn’t the first time. It will certainly not be the last.

“Jarvis?” Bruce says, and the AI turns on the lights without any extra input. Bruce sighs, rubs his eyes, then approaches his partner. “Tony,” he calls softly, quietly. He touches Tony’s face, the pads of his fingers against his lover’s cheek. “Tony.”

Tony gasps awake, pale and drenched in sweat, breathing heavily.

“Bruce,” Tony croaks. He pulls him closer, rests his face on the crook of his neck and does nothing else. Bruce wraps his arms around him— _stays_. He feels tired, but he won’t go back to sleep until he knows Tony’s feeling better. It’s what they do.

“Hey,” Bruce murmurs. “You’re ok, now. You’re alright.”

Minutes later, once his heart rate calms and his breathing subsides, Tony says:

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

Bruce thinks of fingers against his scars, of a warm hand on his shoulder. He thinks of a forehead against his own, of a request to stay. He doesn’t smile, but it is a near thing. He answers:

“We all have our burdens to bear.”

It sounds like _I love you_.

**Author's Note:**

> You can come talk to me on my [tumblr!](http://giucorreias.tumblr.com/)


End file.
